“The porte cochere will do fine. Thanks.”
J.T. made several more trips to the car and back. Each time Kate tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. There was something about that devilish smile and chiseled good looks and that drew the eyes like steel shavings to a magnet. That killer body and easy, hip-rolling saunter didn’t hurt any, either, she admitted ruefully.
Feeling foolish, Kate attacked her work with renewed vigor when he drove the Jeep around to the side under the porte cochere and disappeared inside for the last time. “If you don’t get a grip, my girl, it’s going to be a long six months,” she muttered, stabbing the blade of the shovel into the pile of compost.
Full darkness had fallen, and she was working by the dim glow of the front porch light by the time she finished. Already the temperature had dropped to a bone-chilling level. Exertion had kept Kate warm while she worked, but when she paused to rest a moment and arch her back, the cold seeped in, and a hard shiver rippled through her. With an exhausted sigh, she trundled the empty wheelbarrow and shovel around the house and back up the incline to the garage. When they were stored, she padlocked the garage and hurried to the house.
An hour later, showered and dressed in a navy turtleneck sweater and gray wool slacks, Kate stepped out of her room and headed for the stairs.
Her room was on the same side of the house as J.T.’s, but at the opposite end of the long hall, overlooking the back terrace and outbuildings.
At the head of the stairs Kate paused and glanced toward J.T.’s room. Wall sconces cast dim pools of light at intervals along the corridor, but there were no signs of life from that end, no sounds, no light coming from under his door.
Had he fallen asleep? she wondered. Or had he gone out?
The last thought brought an uneasy tightness to her chest, but she ignored it and continued down the stairs.
Reaching the first floor, Kate noticed light spilling from the library and heard the soft rustle of paper. She found J.T. sitting at her father’s desk, poring over a book and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.
The desk lamp cast his strong features in planes of light and shadows. The sleeves of his pullover were pushed up, exposing muscular forearms covered with a dusting of short, dark hair. Around his neck he wore a silver chain, but it disappeared beneath his sweater to nestle in the dark thatch that peeked out of the V neck of the garment. His shoulders were broad and his brown hair slightly mussed where he’d unconsciously winnowed his fingers through it as he read.
He was utterly masculine and appealing. More than any man had a right to be, Kate decided.
J.T. was so engrossed in the book he didn’t notice her standing in the doorway. She debated whether or not to say something or clear her throat to get his attention, but in the end she left him to his work and went to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
Half an hour later, steaming biscuits and the stew that had been simmering all day in the slow cooker sat on a warming tray on the buffet and a place had been set for J.T. at the dining table. Kate lingered in the dining room to make sure he had everything he needed before returning to the kitchen, but when he hadn’t shown up by ten after seven she went back to the library.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but dinner is ready,” she said quietly from the doorway.
He looked up and blinked at her, like someone coming out of a daze. “What?”
“Dinner. It’s on the buffet in the dining room. You can help yourself.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Dinner. Be right there,” he said in a distracted voice, but even before the words were out of his mouth his attention reverted to the book.
Kate waited, watching him, but he made no effort to move. She doubted he even realized that she was still there. Finally she shook her head and left.
Minutes later he looked up, startled, when she returned and placed a tray on the desk beside his elbow. “What’s this?”
“Your dinner. Normally I only serve meals in the dining room, but since you obviously can’t tear yourself away from whatever you’re reading, I’m making an exception this once.”
He grinned as she poured iced tea from a small pitcher and adjusted the dishes and silverware just so on the lacy placemat. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Well, not much, anyway.” Kate moved the tiny individual salt and pepper shakers closer to his bowl, and stepped back, then darted forward again to smooth out a fold in the napkin. “I couldn’t very well let you go hungry.”
He seemed to find her nervous perfectionism amusing. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyes twinkled at her. “I appreciate that.”
“Yes, well, you’d better eat before it gets cold.”
Obediently he took a bite of stew, and his eyes widened. “Oh, man, this is delicious. I think I’m in love.”
Before she realized his intent, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. His skin was warm and his five-o’clock shadow prickled against her palm. A wave of heat raced up her arm, making the fine hairs there stand on end.
“Now that I’ve tasted your cooking, you have to marry me, Katy,” he declared solemnly, rubbing his bristly cheek against her palm. “I’ll die of starvation if you don’t. You’ve ruined me for ordinary food.”
Flustered, but determined to maintain her dignity, Kate pulled her hand free and eyed him coolly. “I doubt that. It’s just a simple stew.”
“Not to a bachelor who’s used to eating TV dinners or restaurant food. The only thing that would make this meal better is a little company. Why don’t you pull up a chair and join me?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve already eaten,” she lied, backing away. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your research. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clean the kitchen and call it a day. Please feel free to work in here as long as you like. All I ask is that you put your dishes in the sink and turn out the lights when you’re done.” Not quite able to meet those laughing eyes, she bade him good-night and turned to leave.
“Night, Katy.”
Kate ground her teeth. She had intended to make a quick exit, but at the door she turned and fixed him with a stern look. “My name is Kate. Not Katy. I hate to be called Katy.”
J.T. threw back his head and laughed, a rich, robust sound that sent a tingle down her spine. “I’ll remember that.”
The next morning J.T. was halfway down the stairs when he caught a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee. In desperate need of a jolt of caffeine, he picked up speed and followed the aroma trail like a bloodhound.
His nose led him to the dining room. A warming tray on the sideboard held several covered dishes, but it was the coffeepot that caught his eye the instant he stepped through the doorway.
“Bless you, Kate,” he murmured, making a beeline for the sideboard. On the first sip he groaned and closed his eyes. Whatever else she was, the woman made one helluva cup of coffee.
He was still savoring the brew when he turned around and focused on the table for the first time. It was an exquisite piece, made of solid cherry and long enough to seat twenty people. Currently, though, only one place was set for breakfast.
J.T. frowned. What the devil was this?
Following faint sounds, he pushed through the swinging door at the back of the dining room and found himself in the butler’s pantry. He walked through the narrow, cabinet-lined room to another swinging door at the other end. Using one finger, he pushed it open a crack.
Kate sat at the kitchen